


takeout makeout

by ghostlygrape



Series: kiss snark bang [3]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Established Relationship, F/M, I'm very sorry, Kitchen Sex, Post Reveal, Teasing, straight up smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlygrape/pseuds/ghostlygrape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>featuring takeout only in passing</p>
            </blockquote>





	takeout makeout

Paris was as it always was after a heavy rain--a little rough around the edges as the darkness sank into the city’s bones, streetlamps mere suggestions in the lingering fog. Chat Noir, leather suit gleaming, lept across the smokestacks. Patrol was lonely without his Lady, but she had diligently covered for him the past few weeks as he scrambled to finish his doctoral thesis. She deserved a break. Besides, the streets had been fairly quiet ever since they defeated Hawkmoth, so patrols were more a force of habit than strictly necessary. They stopped the occasional petty robbery, but the rain had kept even thieves at home.

 

Chat Noir let himself pause on the roof of the apartment he shared with Marinette. It was small, but it was theirs, and it was enough. He scanned the skyline one last time, drinking in the warm lights and the sounds of laughter and clinking dishes as the city sat down for dinner, safe under two pairs of watchful eyes. He slid down the side of the building and landed lightly on their balcony. The doors were thrown open and he could hear Marinette humming as she set the table. She had lit candles, and the scent of warm vanilla enveloped him like a hug as he stepped inside. He crept softly across the living room--no easy feat what with their creaky floorboards--and wrapped his arms around her waist. She gasped when he pressed his still-damp chest against her back and nuzzled against her neck.

 

“You’re soaked,” she complained, but set the wine bottle on the counter and kissed his mop of blond hair affectionately.

 

“I couldn’t resist,” he said and pulled back to admire his handiwork. Her white shirt had turned transparent and stuck to her skin where he pressed against her. He could see the lace of her black bra and matching black panties, while the damp fabric accentuated the swell of her muscles toned from years of swinging across the city. She turned in his arms to face him and smiled. Her lips were stained red from the wine, and her shirt clung to her waist, pulling the fabric tight between her breasts. His heart skipped a beat, and he kissed her. She tasted like wine and summer fruits and  _ woman _ .

 

“I got takeout, if you’re hungry,” she whispered against his lips.

 

“My mind is a little preoccupied at the moment,” he said, pulling her closer to emphasize his point. He rolled his hips against hers and she laughed. He made her feel like a teenager again when he did this, as if they were nothing but strange urges and new limbs that came with no instruction manual. And yet his strategy, crass form of persuasion as it was, never failed to excite her. She set her wine glass next to the bottle and brushed her hair off her shoulder.

 

She tugged at the zipper to his suit and purred in his ear. “Well if you insist, then I  _ suppose  _ dinner can wait.”

 

“Who said anything about waiting?” he smirked, and hoisted her onto the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pulled her shirt over her head, not bothering with the buttons. He gently drew his claws up her back, pressing just hard enough to leave pink lines on her skin. He wanted to tell the world that she was his and he was hers in every sense there could be. He wanted to tell the world that Chat Noir would bring the wicked things that lurk in the dark with him to avenge any pain and sorrow inflicted upon her. He could feel the heat of his scratches even through the leather of his gloves, as if he had branded her with his mark. The thought of such a visible signal of their bond drained the remaining blood from his head and it was all he could do to fumble with the clasp of her bra.

 

“This is sexy,” he said, twirling the lace around his finger before unceremoniously flinging it across the room, “but I like you better without it.” Her laugh was cut short with a moan as his mouth met her nipple. He squeezed her other breast as he licked and sucked her to a point. His claws scraped her delicate skin when he pinched her neglected nipple, causing her to gasp and squeeze her eyes shut. Gradually, his mouth wandered down her torso and his hands gripped the swell of her ass. He sucked a wet trail between her breasts and down her stomach, stopping just above where she wanted him most. Adrien could smell her arousal so with Chat Noir’s enhanced senses, her smell was strong enough for him to taste, almost palpable in its intensity. However, he cheekily ignored the clear invitation between her legs in favor of peppering the inside of her thighs with kisses. Marinette threaded her fingers through his hair, but she didn’t pull. Despite her growing frustration, she liked the attention he paid to every inch of her when they made love. The care he took made her feel wanted and warmed her to the core--in both senses of the term. His nose brushed across the damp lace of her panties and she shivered in anticipation.

 

“Well I’d say that’s enough. Takeout sounds great now!” he chirped gleefully from between her thighs. He moved as if to get up, but her grip in his hair tightened and she shot him an angry glare. “What, you don’t like that? Alright, alright, I’ll find something else to suck on,” he said, turning his attention back to the matter at hand. He hooked his claws under the waistband of her panties and, with that iconic Chat Noir grin on his face, simply snapped the delicate lace. Cold air washed over her pussy and she gasped. Adrien gripped her ass again and pulled her to the edge of the counter. He laved his tongue along the entire length of her pussy, licking her from slit to clit, before wrapping his lips around her clit and flicking the tip with his tongue. Marinette’s grip on his hair tightened as he worried the bundle of nerves. She unconsciously spread her legs farther, inviting him to go deeper, harder. Adrien, of course, was happy to oblige her, but his fingers were tipped with claws and therefore not ideal for filling her, stretching her, the way she wanted him to. He gave her clit one last suck, pulling his lips off with a wet  _ pop _ , before straightening. He lifted her off the counter and pulled at the zipper of his suit. Her eyes followed his movements in rapture, and he couldn’t help but smirk at the effect he had on her. Her attraction to him never got old; even though he quit modeling when he entered university, a childhood of people who only saw him for his body left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Marinette was different. She saw his body as the manifestation of his bravery, his strength of will, and his compassion. In his muscles she saw the battles they had fought together and in his scars the sacrifices he had made for her.

 

When he had the zipper down as far as it would go, Marinette pulled his hard cock out of his suit, giving it a playful squeeze before he spun her around and pressed her chest down to the counter. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” he murmured in her ear. She shivered again, the cold press of the countertop contrasting with the heat building between her legs.

 

He took a moment to appreciate the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips in this position, her feet just brushing against the floor, before pressing his cock against her mound. He felt her outer lips, wet from his mouth and her own juices, open around him. He rubbed his cock against her, relishing the way she moaned as the head pulled against her opening and pushed against her clit. She was already so slick, ready and waiting for him to push into her. Her wetness coated his entire length as he rubbed against her and started to drip down her thighs.

 

Marinette grew tired of his antics and reached around, pressing him tighter against her folds. She ground against his hard cock and moaned at the sweet pressure when he bucked in her hand. Adrien gripped her hips and kept her from moving any further. He leaned down, pressing the bared skin of his chest against her back and kissing her shoulders. She could feel the dampness of the leather and the sudden chill of the metal zipper, but his skin set her on fire. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered in her ear.

 

“Y-you know,” she stuttered, desire thick in her voice. Her walls ached in anticipation of being stretched.

 

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it, princess,” he said with a grin.

 

“I-I want you,” she said.

 

“Mmm, I think you’ll have to be more specific.” He flicked a claw against her clit, and she gasped.

 

“I want you to fuck me. Fuck me hard, right now, Chat Noir.” The stutter was gone from her voice, and Adrien could barely keep himself together.

 

“Well since you asked so nicely…”

 

Adrien lined up his head with her entrance. Her eyes fluttered as she sunk down on his cock. She moaned again, wanton in the feeling of being filled so completely by him, of being split in half around him. Inch by inch, she took his entire length inside her. Adrien felt her walls flutter as she adjusted to his girth. 

 

“Ready, princess?” he asked, pulling out halfway. She nodded and clenched around him in response. And with that, he snapped his hips, fully sheathing himself inside her. She yelped as his hips met her ass and the cold metal of his bell met her clit. He watched her ass jiggle and her fingers clutch at the counter as he slammed into her. Her thighs trembled and her yelps turned into moans for  _ more, faster, harder _ . He was happy to grant her requests--anything for his woman. He had pounded into her a hundred times, and he would pound into her a hundred more if that’s what she wanted.

 

Marinette arched off the counter and pulled him in for a searing kiss. She was all fluttering heat and liquid silk around him, and he loved her so much. “Chat, I--I’m--fuck Adrien-- _ please, _ ” she pleaded.

 

“Come for me,” he whispered, and that was it. Her walls pulsed around him, and she came with a very long, very loud, very  _ French _ list of expletives. He thrust once, twice more into her before his own building tension crested and he came with a grunt, digging his fingers into her hips. They collapsed onto the counter a sweaty, heaving mess. Adrien released his transformation and Plagg immediately fled, disgusted at the profane human ritual. They stayed like that for a while, too boneless for anything else. The sweat and other assorted fluids between them had begun to feel sticky, almost tacky, before they pulled apart.

 

“Shower?” Marinette suggested. Adrien, still too spent to speak, just nodded and let her lead him by the wrist. “And then, dinner. For real. I’m starving.”

**Author's Note:**

> protip: if you get takeout and put it on fancy plates for your dinner party, you can pretend to be a functioning adult!
> 
> edit: did some proofreading, added some things


End file.
